


blur the lines of your identity

by fragiledrug



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Fucking Machines, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragiledrug/pseuds/fragiledrug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock had been held captive by Romulans for nearly two months. That is, in Jim’s personal opinion, two months too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry for having yet another work in progress. YOLO or something.

Spock had been held captive by Romulans for nearly two months. That is, in Jim’s personal opinion, two months too long. Looking on his First Officer then he’s barely able to restrain the coil of potential violence that simmers under his skin, the urge to rip every last Romulan limb from limb and paint the galaxy – no, the entire universe – with their blood in vindication. The edges of his vision blur red and Jim forces himself to take slow, even breaths. He doesn’t have Spock back yet and if he isn’t careful he won’t get him back at all. The Vulcan is standing as straight and proud as ever but he’s significantly thinner. Dark green abrasions mar his pale skin. There’s a fresh streak of blood across his left cheek, just beneath his eye. His bottom lip is split. He’s pointedly avoiding eye-contact, gaze fixed on some nondescript point over Jim’s shoulder. His eyes are unreadable, the normally open mahogany depths shuttered and locked tight.

The Romulan gripping Spock’s arm jerks him roughly. “I assume you have it?”

Jim’s jaw clenches. “If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be meeting with you.”

“Good. You’ll get your precious Vulcan back when all the dilithium is on board.”

The trade – dilithium for Spock – isn’t Starfleet approved. Starfleet doesn’t negotiate with kidnappers and terrorists. Jim had taken matters into his own hands when it became clear the brass had no intention of stepping in, aware of all possible ramifications his actions could have; demotion, dishonorable discharge, even court martial. It doesn’t matter. Getting Spock back is worth any punishment Starfleet can throw at him, even if the thought of losing the _Enterprise_ makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He swallows against the bile rising in his throat, re-steeling himself as he watches crates of dilithium being moved by members of his crew.

He’d all but forgotten Bones’ presence at his side until the other man shifts his weight. He has a medical scanner in hand he’s clearly itching to use, to make sure Spock isn’t gravely injured or dying, but a single shake of Jim’s head holds him at bay. He doesn’t know what state Spock is in mentally and he doesn’t want to cause the Vulcan further distress than was absolutely necessary.

It’s as he’s about to lean in and murmur something to McCoy about waiting until they get on the ship and are in the privacy of Medbay that Spock suddenly sways, lurching forward and collapsing onto his knees. He vomits, retching several times before falling still where he is, head bowed, eyes closed. The Romulan only watches with an air of detached disgust while it takes every ounce of willpower Jim possesses to keep from running to Spock’s kneeling form. He’s never seen the Vulcan afflicted in such a way. Even Bones has tensed, the grip he has on the medical scanner so tight his knuckles are turning white.

Finally, the last of the crates is lifted and carried onto the docked Romulan ship, which is good because Jim feels like he’s going to shake out of his skin if he had to wait any longer. “Are we done here?”

“Not quite.”

Jim freezes, eyes narrowing at the Romulan. “You have the dilithium. Now hand over Spock and let us leave. Isn’t that the deal?”

“It was.”

“Then hand over Spock.”

“I said was, Captain Kirk.”

Fucking Romulans. Jim feels that coil of potential violence raise its head and he curls his hands into fists, blunt nails digging into his palms. “Was?”

“Was. I’ve since changed my mind. We’re fickle like that.”

“Fickle? Try assh—” Bones’ hand on one of his arms leashes his anger. He forces himself to grit out, “What else do you want?”

The Romulan smiles. It’s actually less of a smile than it is a dangerous, provoking leer. Jim recognizes the bait and doesn’t take it, using the slight pressure of Bones’ hand as an anchor. “Let’s see, what do I want?” He gives the words a teasing sing-song edge. His gaze flicks between Jim and Spock as he appears to think – and then the Romulan lifts a leg and places the heel of his boot on Spock’s lower back. Spock is pushed forward by the added weight but doesn’t respond otherwise. “I think I want to keep the Vulcan for a few more months. He has such high opinions of you, Kirk. Much higher than you’ll ever understand. It’s just too bad he’s so repressed. He can be quite fun. He makes some of the most delicious sounds, if you only know where to _press_.” At that, he digs his heel in hard enough to make Spock draw in a sharp breath.

Jim’s control snaps. He’s on the Romulan before he even realizes he’s moved, tackling him and sending them both sprawling through the dirt. He draws his fist back and punches, hitting again and again and again until the Romulan manages to throw him off. Jim doesn’t let himself be pinned, quickly rolling to his feet and lunging to meet him head-on. He’s distantly aware of Bones’ voice behind him as he opens his communicator and barks out an order. He feels his atoms dissipating, breaking apart. The last thing he sees is the Romulan’s malevolent grin.

*****

“Dammit, Bones! I had him!”

“No, he had you and he knew it.”

“Fuck!”

The profanity is louder than it needs to be and Jim realizes they’re still on the transporter pad on the _Enterprise_ , with at least a dozen eyes fixed on them. He glances from Bones to Spock –

“Spock!” The Vulcan is still kneeling. He doesn’t look like he’s even aware of the change in location. “Bones, get him to the Medbay.”

“Like you need to tell me.”

The next several hours are a blur. Spock is taken to the Medbay. He doesn’t once make eye contact with anyone, or even seem to register the fact that he’s back on board the _Enterprise_. Jim refuses to leave his side and Bones eventually relents, going about scans and treatment of the Vulcans’ various injuries around him. Finally, Bones has done all he can for the moment, and for the sake of Spock’s comfort he allows Jim to take him to his quarters.

The walk is silent. Jim watches Spock carefully, looking for any signs of instability or pain, but his expression is so blank Jim might as well be looking at a wall. He’s frowning by the time they reach Spock’s quarters and he enters the code to open the door.

“If you need anything—” Spock shakes his head. Jim fidgets for a moment, wondering if he should stay, when Spock pointedly heads in the direction of the bed that’s sequestered off from the rest of the room by a panel. “I’ll be next door,” he says anyway, and then he steps back to let the door slide shut, closing him out.

*****

Jim is woken by the press of a hot body against his own. At first, he thinks he’s dreaming the lips at his throat, the hands that drag over his bared torso, but then there’s a sharp, needy bite at his pulse-point and he gasps into the darkness, reality set firmly in place by a rush of pain-bled-pleasure.

“Computer, lights to fifty percent.”

The computer obeys the verbal command and the lights turn on. He’s immediately greeted by the sight of black hair and pointed ears. For several seconds his brain refuses to connect the way the Vulcan is grinding down into him with the fact that the Vulcan grinding down into him is _Spock_. When it finally does connect, he’s painfully hard, erection straining against the unmercifully soft fabric of his regulation briefs.

“Spock? Spock, wait, what’re you—”

He’s cut off by Spock’s mouth on his own. His lips are dry yet surprisingly soft and he yields beneath them, opening when a searing tongue grazes the seam of his mouth. Their tongues meet, brush, and Jim stops thinking, gives in to the rush of liquid heat that surges through him, making his blood burn.

It isn’t until he’s lying there spent, panting, that his mind kicks back into overdrive, sends him reeling with a single thought: he just fucked Spock.

*****

He knows they should talk about it, but not ten minutes later Spock is gone and Jim is alone with his thoughts, with come cooling on his stomach. There’s a strange ache, a hollowness that pervades him. He makes himself get up, goes to their shared bathroom and tries not to think about the fact that Spock is literally only feet away as he washes off their shared essence. When he’s done, after he’s dry, he collapses back into his bed and falls asleep to fitful dreams of a too hot mouth and cold eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day finds Jim on the bridge for Alpha shift. It goes by slowly. The ensign covering for Spock probably thinks he’s in trouble because Jim can’t keep himself from repeatedly glancing that way, and every time he does he catches him flinch. By the time the shift is over he can’t get off the bridge fast enough.

He goes straight to his quarters.

“Computer, where is Spock?”

“Spock is currently located in his quarters,” the computer promptly responds.

“Has he been there all day?”

“Affirmative. Spock has not left his quarters since 0200 hours.”

Jim is both relieved and concerned. Spock isn’t supposed to leave his quarters yet. He wants to check on him, but the memory of their encounter – if he can even call the surprise middle of the night fuck an encounter – makes him hesitate and eventually decide against the idea. He settles down at his desk to complete a small backlog of paperwork.

*****

There are no more surprise middle of the night visits from Spock.

Jim almost wishes there was.

*****

When Spock first steps back onto the bridge, two weeks later, Jim is so full of nervous energy he’s practically vibrating with it. He hasn’t really seen him in that time, too busy with the ship, though he has been checking in with Bones to make sure the Vulcan is recovering. He tosses his First Officer a genuine smile and says, “Welcome back, Mister Spock.” Spock says nothing. He doesn’t even acknowledge Jim, just heads straight for his station and sits down, immediately delving into his work. Jim feels his smile slip and has to force it back into place. He turns his chair back to the view screen where white pinpricks of stars are flying by and pointedly does not glance over at the science station, despite how badly he wants to.

The shift is strained, awkward. Eventually he can’t take anymore and he gets up, saunters around the bridge like he often does, inquiring into various statuses until he reaches Spock. Jim stops directly behind him, hands coming to rest on the back of his chair.

“Anything interesting?”

He tries to keep his tone casual, professional.

“Negative, sir.”

Spock’s voice completely lacks inflection.

Jim has seen Spock go all ‘super Vulcan’ before, when something or someone breached his careful shields and revealed more of his humanity than he was comfortable with and he had to backtrack. This is… not that. This is different. Jim is at a loss to what it is, exactly, but he knows it’s not good. When Spock finally looks at him, his eyes are totally blank. There’s absolutely nothing in them. They’re not the same warm, rich mahogany brown that show everything he refuses to say. They’re empty, and Jim has to step back, startled by the starkness of them. He returns to his chair, ignoring the way his heart is beating, hard and right against his ribcage. He comms Bones and manages to sound more calm than he feels.

“Kirk to McCoy.”

“McCoy here.”

“I need to speak with you. Privately.”

“Stop by after your shift.”

“Thanks. Kirk out.”

The rest of the shift can’t go by fast enough.

*****

When he walks through the doors to Bones’ personal office, he’s immediately handed a glass of bourbon. Jim throws it back, takes two long gulps before sitting down.

“You know I can’t share specific details with you, Jim. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Jim’s face pinches tight and he takes another drink. “Yeah. But last time you saw him, was he… okay?”

“He’s Vulcan, Jim. They don’t really do ‘okay’.”

“ _Bones._ ”

There must be something desperate in his tone, something that gives him away, because Leonard sighs and leans forward, his eyes softening in a way that makes Jim have to look away.

“Physically, he’s all recovered. Mentally? I haven’t got a clue. Who knows how Vulcan brains work, particularly in the face of trauma, except other Vulcans? And he’s not even full Vulcan, which opens a whole different set of problems!” Bones pauses, shaking his head as if to get himself back on track. “But you know I wouldn’t have cleared him for duty if he’d failed the preliminary psyche exam I had to give him.”

“You didn’t see his eyes today. When he looked at me, there was… nothing there.”

Jim falls silent. Bones lets the silence linger for all of two minutes before he heaves an exhausted sigh and leans forward to grab a PADD. He powers it up and opens a file, then slides it across his desk. Jim catches it and eyes the doctor questioningly. “You didn’t see that, all right?”

A small nod, and Jim looks down at the PADD. It’s an official medical report. Spock’s name is at the top. The injuries Bones was able to catalogue are listed by degree of severity. Broken bones and fractures, abrasions, bruises; it’s all expected. Until he sees something that isn’t expected. Jim can’t breathe as he reads over the words _rectal fissures_. He doesn’t know how long he stares at the PADD, only seeing those two words, head echoing with the memory of Spock’s sharp inhale when the Romulan had dug the heel of his boot into his lower back. It isn’t until something crashes that he startles back to reality, to find himself standing. His glass is in alcohol-soaked pieces on the floor.

“Jim—” Bones starts, but Jim turns and stalks out of his office, out of Medbay.

He reaches his quarters mere minutes later and it takes everything he has to keep from collapsing under the weight of his thoughts.

Spock was _raped_.

His stomach turns and he scrambles for the bathroom, only just reaching it in time. He vomits repeatedly, head bent over the toilet, body wracked with shudders. He vomits until his stomach is empty, and then he dry-heaves several times. When he finally stops, he gets up and moves to the sink to rinse out his mouth. There’s a noise behind him, and he abruptly realizes he’s not alone, that Spock is standing off to one side of him. Nausea curls through his stomach again.

“Spock.” His voice is rough, throat raw from puking. “I was just—”

“There is no need to explain, Captain.”

A pause, during which Jim tries to settle his stomach without success. “What are you doing in here?”

“I heard the sounds of your… distress. I apologize for intruding; I simply wished to ascertain that you are well.”

“No. Yeah. I— don’t know.” Jim laughs, but it’s dry and lacking humor, more bitter and self-deprecating than amused. He rakes a hand through his hair, still trying for some semblance of control, stability. He feels like someone flipped the gravity controls off. He forces himself to look at Spock, really look, instead of looking through him like he has been. The Vulcan is stock straight, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, but his eyes are back to being expressive pools, worry darkening them despite his efforts to keep his face a neutral mask. An image of Spock on his knees comes to Jim unbidden and he startles, jerking back against the counter and hitting his elbow with an invective hiss. Spock moves to step forward but stops, a short, aborted movement, looking uncertain. His hands are at his sides then, curled into loose fists.

“You visited Doctor McCoy.”

That makes Jim blink. He rubs his elbow, wincing at the prickly feeling that works its way up his arm. He’d really love to go back in time and deck whoever named that particular area ‘funny bone’ because it’s not even remotely funny. “I was consulting with him.” A pause. He can’t lie to Spock. “About your… recovery.”

He doesn’t miss the way Spock straightens, but he doesn’t say anything and they stand there for nearly a minute in awkward silence before Jim sighs.

“Spock, can we… talk? Please?”

Spock inclines his head. Rather than feeling relieved, something knots up tight inside Jim.


	3. Chapter 3

Instead of getting into talking right away, Jim procrastinates by getting them drinks once they’re in his quarters. He’s not a big fan of tea in general, but he gets two Vulcan spice teas. He proceeds to pace around the small sitting area his quarters contain, mind racing without a point of focus. Spock is perched on one end of the rounded beige couch, tea in hand, not watching Jim pace though it’s clear he’s aware of every movement he makes.

“Jim.”

The sound of his name and not his title from Spock, spoken so softly, an apparent attempt to calm him, makes Jim stop. He slowly sits down across from Spock, forearms resting on his knees, hands linked together to keep himself from fidgeting. It doesn’t work; his right leg starts to bounce.

“About—” Jim has to swallow, unconsciously wetting his lips. “About that night, a few weeks ago.”

Spock’s expression is placid, unreadable. Jim forges on.

“Do you even… remember that?”

“Vulcans have eidetic memories.”

“So you remember coming in here in the middle of the night and—”

“We engaged in intercourse at that time, Captain.”

Back to Captain again. And with Spock talking about sex so casually, the title does weird things to his heart, makes it stutter and jump. Jim unlaces his hands to rub his palms on his thighs.

“Yeah.”

Spock tilts his head, and Jim realizes his eyes have gone barren again, pure voids of emotion. It makes his mouth go dry and then Spock is standing and stalking toward him. All the hairs on his body rise in warning. He stands just as Spock reaches him. They’re very nearly the same height, only a centimeter or two in difference with Spock having the advantage, but so close that small difference seems enormous, particularly with the way Spock is staring down at him. Jim thinks he should say something, anything, but his mind is dumbly blank. This isn’t going how he wanted.

Without warning, Spock has pushed him back down and is straddling him, long legs spreading on either side of his own.

“Do you wish to fuck me again, Jim?”

Arousal sears through Jim like a flash burn, leaving him dizzy. He didn’t know Spock was capable of profanity. Human profanity, at least. _Yes_ , he thinks hazily, but his hands are at Spock’s shoulders, as if to hold him at bay. He can’t – not with the knowledge he has, not with what he knows Spock went through and fuck he was trying not to think about that. A new wave of nausea threatens to make itself known and he shakes his head.

“No.”

Spock stiffens. Jim wouldn’t have been able to tell if Spock hadn’t been right on top of him, but he is, and he can feel the way his muscles lock up one by one, until he’s as rigid as stone. The next thing Jim knows, Spock is off him and halfway across the room.

“Spock, wait—”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even hesitate. Jim stares at the door as it shuts behind Spock.

*****

Later that night, while working to distract himself, Jim receives an anonymous message.

To: jamestkirk@starfleet.org  
From: (unknown)  
Subject: vlcn.

It’s blank, but there is an attachment, which he only downloads after scanning it several times to be certain doing so won’t kill his PADD. In the time it takes to download (it seems to be a rather large file), he finishes off two reports and has nearly forgotten about the file when his PADD beeps to let him know it’s done. He opens it without thought. It’s some kind of recording, exactly fifteen minutes long, and as it starts up his blood goes cold.

The recording is of Spock.

He’s bound; thick metal surrounds his neck, wrists and ankles, each shackle connected to a chain that’s bolted to the floor. Jim can only assume it’s all Romulan-grade or else there’s no way Spock would still be restrained. For nearly a minute the recording is just of Spock, and Jim can’t help but notice he’s not bruised up yet. Then another person steps into view. He can’t hear what’s being said because there’s no audio, but he can see mouths moving, can see the way Spock remains rigid and defiant. It makes Jim proud for all of about five seconds before Spock is struck. He doesn’t react, of course, barely even twitches his head to the side. Three more people step into view and Jim’s stomach drops out of existence along with his lungs as they start to strip his First Officer of his uniform. He wants to stop watching. It’s evidence, though, proof of what happened to Spock. He remembers an old saying, about train wrecks and not being able to look away, and it seems very apt then as he watches Spock struggle. He ends up bereft of clothing anyway. One of the Romulans does something that makes the chains shorten, forcing Spock into a kneeling position, and Jim’s stomach makes itself known with a queasy twist. He still feels like his lungs are nonexistent, though he knows he’s breathing shallowly, throat constricted and burning. A machine of some sort is brought in. Jim can’t see it well enough to discern what it is, but for a sickening moment he thinks—

He stops the recording, practically throwing his PADD across the room with shaking hands.

Back on Earth, long before he took up Pike’s challenge to join Starfleet, he’d gone into a few of the more kinky sex shops where he’d discovered these high-tech toys called fucking machines. In reality, they weren’t that high-tech, being little more than a gear mechanism attached to a dildo. They were programmed to start out slow and gradually increase in speed. He’d thought they were intriguing at the time, but… but if that was what he’d seen in the recording…

He steels himself, retrieves his PADD and resumes the recording.

He wasn’t wrong.

He watches with numb horror as the machine is placed behind Spock and turned on without any preparation. Spock jerks, and Jim can’t help but imagine the sound he might have made under other circumstances, though he knows the Vulcan endured everything in rebellious silence. He stops the recording again and only just makes it to the bathroom in time to empty his already empty stomach. He’s certain Spock can hear his dry-heaving but the door connecting his quarters to their shared bathroom remains firmly shut.


End file.
